


ghosts that we knew

by FidotheFinch



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cry with me, Gen, Grief, takes place while Dick is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidotheFinch/pseuds/FidotheFinch
Summary: Damian didn’t hesitate. He tackled Dick, wrapping his arms around the older boy with a desperation he wouldn’t dare show in real life.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 25
Kudos: 267
Collections: Dick & Damian, everybody loves dick





	ghosts that we knew

It started as a normal dream.

Damian was in the Cave, waiting by the computer while Batman typed up the report for the night’s patrol. Nothing unusual had happened, just a mugging or two.

The roar of a powerful engine interrupted the quiet. Two motorcycles peeled into the Cave, and Red Robin and Red Hood and Cass and Duke dismounted while engaged in some lively conversation.

“Hey, B. Robin,” Timothy called.

Damian humphed, and turned back toward the screen.

The four vigilantes disappeared into the locker rooms, taking their rowdy laughter with them.

Damian could see the reflection of the bikes in the computer monitor.

He looked back, and he had been mistaken, before. There were three motorcycles.

The third was Richard’s.

This wasn’t right. Damian reached back to tap on his Father’s shoulders, but he must have left already because the chair was empty. In an absurd burst of childish fear, Damian ducked under the desk and hid.

Richard couldn’t be here.

But he had barely ducked beneath the control when achingly familiar, light steps crossed the way. “Damian?”

The dressing room door popped open. “Dick? Did you say something?”

“I thought I saw Damian down here?”

“Yeah, he’s around somewhere.”

Damian stared at the feet. Richard wasn’t wearing his Nightwing gear; his scuffed leather shoes seemed out of place on the Cave floor. As did the jeans, ripped. There was a smear of something dark on one of the legs, and Damian remembered it was engine oil. The stain was visible in the picture Tim had given him a few weeks ago.

The feet paused in front of the desk. “Damian? Are you down there?”

And it sounded just like Richard. He sounded like he was smiling.

Damian hadn’t heard that voice in so long. Something deep, deep within him ached.

He peeked his head out from beneath the desk. “Grayson?”

Richard’s face lit up at the sight of him. His hair was windswept, and he wore his favorite worn jacket over a button-up, like he had just come from a meeting. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He held his arms open.

Damian didn’t hesitate. He tackled Dick, wrapping his arms around the older boy with a desperation he wouldn’t dare show in real life.

Dick laughed, corrected his balance, and wrapped his arms around him in turn.

He was warm. Damian savored the feeling of Dick’s chest rising and falling against his cheek, of Dick’s breath mussing his hair. Dick squeezed him and rubbed his back with one hand.

Just like he used to.

Damian pulled away, not meeting Dick’s eyes. This was a Dick that didn’t know he was going to die.

But Dick caught the shift. “Is something wrong?”

Damian shook his head. He couldn’t stop everything else. He felt his face contract, and he could do nothing to stop the first tear that spilled over, nor the second.

“Oh, hey.” Dick knelt down in one smooth motion. “It’s okay.”

Damian wordlessly shook his head again. He didn’t dare speak; he didn’t know what sounds he would make.

“Come here.” Dick picked Damian up, and settled in the chair by the computer, Damian perched in his lap. This was nothing they had ever done when Dick was alive, but Damian didn’t protest.

Damian clutched Dick’s shirt. It was so _real_. The denim was rough under his fingers and stretched in the places Dick picked at. The buttons were cold to the touch.

“What is it?”

“I just—” Damian’s voice broke.

He buried his face in Dick’s shoulder, hiding the ugly expression he knew he wore. It even _smelled_ like his brother.

 _I miss you. I miss you, so much_.

Dick rocked back and forth in the chair, slowly. (It couldn’t do that.) He brushed a hand through Damian’s hair, and then down his back. Held him closely. “It’s okay. I know.”

Damian sobbed.

He sat, rocking in Dick’s lap, for a time that couldn’t last long enough. Dick hummed something at him, and Damian slowly realized it was the same tune Dick’s music box played, the same one Dick had hummed to him when he was sick, or recovering from an injury.

Damian squeezed in as close as he could, heedless of the tear stains he left on Dick’s jacket. “I love you.”

Dick smiled. “I love you, too, Damian.”

* * *

Damian woke up.

His pillowcase was wet.


End file.
